"Spilled Coffee"

Sitting alone, still and quiet, looking out through the glass wall,
sipping a tall coffee, atop a tall chair, completely unaware of the hustle and bustle, the clattering and the chattering, the bags and the shopping, the mobile phones and the screaming kids.
Feeling distinctly removed and out of place as usual, he sips his latte and his eyes trace the inevitable progress of another rain drop as it meanders down the pane; like a tear oftentimes rolls down his cheek in an afterglow moment with his beloved Mistress. If eyes are the window on the soul, what are tears?
The cleansing rain that washes away all the hurt and dirt from his usual world, perhaps.
However cold and grey outside, inside is a warm glow whenever thinking of Her.
Rain falls harder, umbrella's now and countless people flood past, hurrying, faceless, grey and he wonders if there is any colour left in the world.


He starts! Hot coffee splashes a hand. Pulses racing; heart thumping against his chest.
As if in slow-motion, a passing glimpse of blonde hair, long black leather coat, accentuating rather than concealing dangerous curves, the flash of silver from stiletto heels clicking unhurriedly along the wet pavement; a sound reminiscent of Her clicking fingers, beckoning, demanding, and, he fancies there is a faint shimmer in the air around Her - a sparkling brilliance, temporarily blinding him, amid the ocean of charcoal and sepia.


Wide eyed, he grabs his coat, spilling the rest of the coffee in the process. Chair scrapes deafeningly, indignant yells chase after him as a dripping couple in a queue are forced unceremoniously out of his way as he crashes through the mayhem and out the door, into the deluge of rain and unrelenting monochrome.


She is gone. No sign of Her having passed by.
He stands for several minutes in the pouring rain, wondering...wondering...
The world is once again colourless. Tasteless. Vanilla.


MiCamino )0(;-/